


Respite

by Juli



Series: Days of Summer [11]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-12
Updated: 2012-08-12
Packaged: 2017-11-12 00:44:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/484735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juli/pseuds/Juli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone thinks Harold works too hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Respite

**Author's Note:**

> Counting down the days of summer with a ficlet a day in August.

“You work too hard, Harold.”

 

The quiet voice didn’t startle Harold Finch, even though he’d been concentrating on his computer screen. He’d long since become acclimated to John Reese’s nearly silent way of moving; Harold had been snuck up on by the former agent too many times to still be disturbed by it.

 

“The machine waits for no one.” Only after Harold finished speaking did he turn to look at John. His stiff back made movement difficult, but it was always worth the twinge of pain if the sight of his lover was his reward. 

 

John’s smile was as reserved as the rest of the man’s demeanor. “And does the machine have a number for us now?”

 

Harold allowed himself the twist of his lips that was his own smile. “Not at the moment, no.”

 

John’s smile became a little more open. “Good, because you have plans.”

 

“I do?” Harold loved it when John got playful; it happened so rarely.

 

“There’s a free concert in Central Park tonight,” John told him. “The New York Philharmonic is playing Beethoven. That’s one of your favorites, right?”

 

“You know it is.” Harold’s eyes darted to the window. The sun was just starting to set and it appeared to be a lovely summer night. Harold knew from past experience how wonderful a summer concert in the park could be, but unfortunately, a lot had happened since he’d last indulged in music under the stars. “But I don’t think I’m capable of sitting on the grass anymore.”

 

John looked entirely too satisfied with himself. “Then don’t.”

 

It was only when John moved that Harold realized that the other man had a pack with him. He watched John work, enjoying the fluid yet economical moves. Only when John finished and stepped back did Harold pay attention to what those moves meant. John had unpacked and set up a chair of sorts, one that was just inches off the ground, but appeared to offer full back and buttock support.

 

“Oh.” Was Harold’s eloquent response.

 

John stopped smiling, but his face remained gentle. “Come on, Harold, let me give you back something you love.”

 

It wasn’t hard imagining sitting in the park with John, the sound of beautiful music wafting over them as Harold held John’s hand. It was the type of activity that Harold had enjoyed before the machine; before his body and his life was broken. A part of him ached to be that carefree again, even if only temporarily. Another part of him, though, told him quite firmly that he didn’t deserve such pleasures. Not anymore.

 

“Please, Harold.” John’s eyes were beseeching. Harold didn’t like it when John felt the need to plead for something.

 

“All right.” Harold gave in with a sigh. 

 

John’s smile became an outright grin, another rarity from the taciturn man. Harold watched with pleasure as John packed up the chair again, belatedly noticing that there was only one of the contraptions.

 

“What about you?” Harold gestured towards the chair. “Do you have another one in the car?”

 

John shook his head. “No. I thought I’d sit on the ground next to you.” He looked almost shy as he continued. “If that’s all right with you.”

 

Harold’s mental picture changed. John was still sitting next to him, but at a slightly lower height which made holding hands difficult. Instead, the other man had his head leaning against Harold’s torso and Harold’s hand was combing through John’s hair in time to the music.

 

It was necessary for Harold to clear his throat before answering. “Yes, that would be more than acceptable.”

 

John’s answering smile was a beautiful thing. Harold allowed himself to be swept towards the door, a warm hand on his back offering gentle guidance and support. He did make an awkward turn at the last moment; one last check of his computer screen. It was blessedly blank. Satisfied that no one’s life would be at risk for the few hours it took to enjoy a summer concert, Harold gave himself permission to spend time with John, unfettered with responsibility.

 

Only when the two men were well and truly gone did a number light up Harold’s computer screen. It almost as quickly dimmed, as though being banked for future attention. Soon after the soft sounds of Beethoven could have been heard; had there been anyone there to pay attention.

~the end~


End file.
